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I see the boy first.
He scampers in the
lot behind the taco stand
like an unguided skiff,
buffeting the halcyon asphalt sea.
His blond tresses are the sails,
neck the mizzenmast,
arms outstretched the stanchions.
The faded superhero tee comprises
the figurehead zooming
in unhampered journey.

He jibes as Father
Dances behind him, spinning too
with arms out. And I realize
I’m not witnessing sailing.
Father and son are flying.

They twist and dive
around cloud cars for
in this moment they are
high above the city. Not here.
Their lips flap and noise the
PSHB-PSHB-PSHB-PSHB
of imagined propellers.
Laughing and talking her
flyboys to a smooth
landing in the minivan,
Mother watches clapping,
for this flight was brilliant.
Showing me in my daily haste
I have forgotten to fly.

I could not wait
but now you are here
I feel the weight of time
pushing me down into
the wine press of life,
Squishing and drowning my vanities,
but churning hopes, wishes, fondness
and tamping them down
into the one pure thing:
LOVE.
For you and your mother
are now singular
and wholly required
for my existence.
Exquisite souls, you
dance among the
grapes of vitality
pouring your vintage
of delicious delight
as I sit, mostly a silt
watching you both glide
over stones
as they were nothing
more than dust
under your heels.

Click above to hear the poem.

An ethereal burst
of smog-free glory
through my windows
now.

Lavender sky, wisps of
blue clinging to the fading day.
Clouds orange, purple, pink
painting my face delighted.

A chance relief.

I’m reminded of the
infinite peace that lies
somewhere between here
and the distant, ebullient horizon.

Bougainvillea glinting with
the unwavering light of history
reminds me how quickly
I too rise and set.

No matter how far I walk
you will go ahead of me
lighting my way,
spreading grace between
each days’ crest.

I promise, one day
I’ll sit on a fashioned wraparound
porch or lie in a glade on land
of my own

To watch the fullness of you
sink to meet the earth.